


Mourn With the Moon and the Stars Up Above

by biextroverts



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Break Up, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biextroverts/pseuds/biextroverts
Summary: Emori comes to Raven in the aftermath of her fallout with Murphy.





	Mourn With the Moon and the Stars Up Above

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be the first scene in a longer fic with endgame Murphy/Emori/Raven, but finishing things is not my forte, so here we are.
> 
> Title is from "You" by Keaton Henson, which seems to be my go-to for hurt/comfort fics with a heavy side of bed-sharing.

          Raven is still awake when she hears a knock on her door well past what they all decided early on was midnight – it’s one of those nights, which she’d never mention to Murphy because he’d get apologetic about it, or to Bellamy or Monty because they’d get concerned, or to Harper or Echo because they’d get pitying, when her leg aches worse than usual, the dull throb the only sensory reminder she ever gets that it’s still there, and she simply can’t find her way into a peaceful sleep. With a groan, she hauls herself up off of the bed and limps over the door, one hand pressed to the wall for balance. She doesn’t know who she expects to see on the other side – Bellamy, most likely, needing to talk something through with her, although lately he’s been too busy shacking up with Echo most nights (he thinks she doesn’t know) to stop by her room for a chat, or Harper with a cup of algae tea, which she’ll make for everyone sometimes when she gets restless; although it’s the second worst thing most of them have ever tasted, after algae slop, the warmth of a steaming brew does them all good – but it certainly isn’t Emori, expression full of fire and eyes glowing with the kind of unshed tears Raven knows all too well.

          “Emori,” Raven says, stepping aside to allow Emori entrance to her room. “What’s wrong?” When Emori makes no move to respond, Raven motions towards her bed. “Come in. Sit. What’s up?”

          Emori crosses to sit at the foot of the bed, leaving Raven to limp back over to take a seat beside her. Raven briefly considers laying a hand on Emori’s shoulder, but Emori is bristling with the kind of wild animal energy it’s safest to let come to you, so instead she sits and watches Emori’s shoulders rise and fall, nostrils flare like a dragon preparing to snort flame, and waits.

          “I hate him,” Emori says finally. “I hate him.”

          Raven wishes she didn’t know who Emori meant, but it’s been getting harder and harder to ignore the signs of Murphy and Emori’s crumbling romance. They’ve all been turning a blind eye, as if pretending the problem doesn’t exist means it will go away, but the Arkers at least know that feigning ignorance is no long-term solution for anything. “What happened?” she says, and, when her only reaction is a quiet sniffle on Emori’s part, she’s stumbling to her feet before she knows it, spoiling for a fight. “Did he hurt you? I swear to god if he harmed a hair on your head, I’ll –”

         “He didn’t touch me.” Emori’s voice is cold; she won’t meet Raven’s eyes. “I don’t think he’d –” A silent sob wracks her body. “He didn’t touch me,” she repeats. Then, with a venom Raven had heard tell Emori was capable of, but had never witnessed herself, “I  _ hate _ him.”

         Raven resumes her seat. She glances down at Emori’s mutated hand, and a pang of fear and rage streaks through her.  _ He wouldn’t _ . She’ll kill him if he did. She takes the hand in both of her own, softly, trying not to dwell on the way her heart goes as tender as a rotten apple and her stomach turns somersaults at the feeling of Emori’s rough skin against hers. “Did he – he didn’t –”

         “Say anything about my hand?” Emori asks, and Raven winces and nods. “No. He  _ insinuated _ several things, but the word – if he’d called me what he could have called me, he’d be dead.”

         “What did he do?”

          Emori snorts. “Yelled. Said a lot of things I couldn’t make sense of. Threw a lot of other things at the walls.” There’s a beat as Emori takes a breath, and then she looks at Raven. There’s nothing imploring in her gaze; she states rather than pleads.  “I can’t go back there tonight. I think he stormed out only seconds after me, but there’s too much there.”

         “You can stay here.”   
  
          The offer is out of Raven’s mouth before she can think about her small room and its single bed; Emori needs somewhere to stay, and Raven can be that somewhere, and so that’s what she’s going to do. She slides back on the bed, pressing herself against the wall and laying down on her side, taking up as little space on the mattress as she can. Emori looks at her from beneath a furrowed brow, and Raven pats the space beside her. “Get the light and then come lay down.”

          “I can sleep on the floor,” Emori says. She stands, but, instead of going to the light switch by the door, pulls open the bottom drawer of Raven’s dresser and emerges with a threadbare blanket and limp pillow Raven didn’t even know were there.

         Raven shakes her head. “If you’re here long-term, we can pull another bed into the room, but for now just … turn off the light and come here.” She’s not necessarily offering sex for solace; doesn’t think Emori, unlike her, is the type, although she’d strip herself bare of her skin if Emori asked; she just knows that sometimes the best thing for the nerves is something or someone to hold.

         Emori shrugs, returns the spare bedclothes to their drawer, and crosses to turn out the light. Raven feels more than sees Emori settle into the bed beside her, curling up with her back to Raven’s chest. Raven tries not to focus on the way her heart rate kicks up at Emori’s nearness; Emori is her friend, and Emori needs Raven, and Raven shouldn’t let the automatic arousal of sharing a bed with someone (a  _ friend _ ) for the first time in nearly six years get the best of her. She’s stronger than any animal instinct, and certainly than the desire for a shred of leached heat, as strong as that impulse may be.

         “Goodnight, Raven,” Emori murmurs. And then, quiet, and so genuine it nearly rends Raven’s heart, “thank you. I think I needed this tonight.”

         “Any time,” Raven says, weakly. She’s not sure who drifts off first that night, but neither of them fall easily into sleep, minds racing as they are with the anguish of thwarted love. 


End file.
